Outside In (9 page)

“Are you staying with Riley?” Lamont asked as she packed a few meds and a salve into a bag for me.

“No.” I carefully pulled on the shirt and pants she had brought me. The curtains had been closed; otherwise I would have flashed the ISF officers. Logan’s vision had improved, but he still had another week in here at least.

“The barracks?” Surprise laced her voice.

“Don’t worry about it.”

She stopped and pierced me with her doctor stare. “You need to sleep in a clean environment for another week. No pipes or air shafts or—”

“I know.”

Lamont touched my arm. No longer in doctor mode, she said, “Stay in my extra room. No strings attached.”

“What if you find an intern?”

“At this point, it’s highly unlikely, but if I do, then we’ll wheel an extra bed into the sitting room. Once we move to the medical center on one of the new levels, we’ll have plenty of space.”

I considered. “Does no strings mean if I have a gaping wound, you won’t try to stitch it up for me?”

“No. I’m still your doctor. It means I won’t try to…mother you.”

“Okay, I’ll stay.”

She nodded as if I just agreed to take my pills on time and pushed the curtains back.

“Doctor?”

Lamont tightened her grip on the fabric and wouldn’t meet my gaze. “Yes?”

“Thanks.”

I contacted Riley through my microphone. His terse reply indicated he was in the middle of something and would catch up with me later. Heading up to the main Control Room in Quad G4, I planned to fetch those mics from Logan’s room.

The double metal doors failed to hiss open when I approached. Odd. A mechanical voice asked for identification. I said my name and they parted just wide enough for a large ISF officer to poke his head out.

“What do you need?” he asked.

“For you to get out of my way,” I said.

He didn’t move. “Only authorized personnel are allowed in unless you have a reason for being here. I’m sure
you
understand the need to protect the critical equipment and personnel inside the Control Room.”

Was that a slam? In an icy voice, I asked, “And
you’re
the protection?”

“Yes. No one gets by me.”

“Uh-huh. Tell Takia I’m here.”

“She’s at a Committee meeting.”

Figures. “Fine. I’ll come back.”

As the door clanged shut, fury simmered in my blood. I understood the need for security, but to prevent
me
from entering was borderline paranoid. No, not borderline, but outright paranoid. I was the last person the Committee had to worry about.

Or was I? I alone knew about level seventeen, and there weren’t many places I couldn’t get to. Actually there was no place I couldn’t get to. Scanning the hallway as I walked away from the Control Room, I found a perfect heating vent. And the beauty of the heating system was the vents were all close to the floor—easy to access.

I had left my tool belt in our storeroom so long ago it felt like a centiweek instead of a week and a half. In a pinch, the thin flat disks of Jacy’s microphones worked as well. Most of the vents popped on and off, but the ones on the fourth level had screws as well. I wiggled into the shaft and pulled the vent back in place.

Warm air flowed around me as I swam toward the control room—pulling with my arms and pushing with my feet. It was harder to do with regular clothes and a pocket full of mics. Plus my skin burned with the added friction.

The familiar smell and hum reminded me of when I had slept in the heating ducts. Combine that with muscles that had been doing nothing but lie in a bed for the last hundred and thirty hours, and the trip turned into an endurance test.

Finally, I reached the control room. Through the slats of the vents, I saw legs of seated workers and rows of computers. Bypassing them, I found Logan’s rooms. In no time, I popped open the vent and tumbled into his small living area. The Captain had occupied this space when he was on duty but not needed. I imagined problems had been few and far between until Domotor recruited me.

Glad to have room to stretch, I glanced around. No surprise the place was a mess of computer parts, wires and gadgets. It took me longer than I hoped to find his stash of mics. Pocketing them so I was balanced, I debated about returning through the heating system. The bigger air ducts would be easier to navigate, but I would have to climb to the ceiling. My newly healed skin hadn’t liked my recent activities and I doubted I had the strength to scale the wall.

Instead, I walked from Logan’s rooms and through the control center. Most of the workers just nodded a greeting unperturbed. A few seemed surprised. The oversized ISF officer’s glare could have burned a hole in sheet metal. But he didn’t try to stop me.

I waved to him as the doors opened for me to leave. “Guess I should change my name to No One, since
no one
gets by you.” It was not a mature thing to do, but I never claimed to be an adult. And I never could resist a challenge.

Tracking down Riley proved to be a challenge as well. I found him at his old work station, banging on the keyboard in irritation. He monitored electrical usage and since the power plant produced all the electricity in Inside, his station was located in the office next to the plant’s control room.

“Not now, Trella. I’m—”

“Busy. I know. I’m starting to understand how you felt when I attended back-to-back Committee meetings.”

My comment earned me a glance and a brief smile.

“This is critical. The computer…” He slammed a fist on the keys. “Damn it. There goes another one.”

“Has the network been compromised?” I peered over his shoulder.

“Sort of. Files are just disappearing as if they never existed.”

“Is that possible? I thought—”

“Lousy son of a Trava!”

White light filled the monitor. Without thought, I covered Riley’s eyes with my hands and dipped my head, blocking mine with my upper arm.

After a few seconds, Riley pulled my hands down. “It’s okay. I think.” A strange hitch cracked his voice.

I peeked. White still dominated the screen, but big black letters shone from the center. Squinting at them, I read:
All access denied by order of the Controllers.

I BLINKED A FEW TIMES, BUT THE WORDS REMAINED ON
the screen.
All access denied by the Controllers.
“Please tell me it’s a joke,” I said to Riley. “Or Logan’s idea of a sick prank.”

“Wish I could. But this is the third system that has disappeared.”

A dizzy weakness swept over me. “Critical systems?”

“Not yet.”

“Yet?”

“I can’t stop it. Takia and a few others tried as well.”

“Does the Committee know?”

“Yep. They’ve been getting kicked out, too. Mostly informational systems and not mechanical or life systems.”

Good thing. “Can Logan bypass the Controllers?”

“I would think so. Why else would they have targeted him?” Riley swiveled around to face me. “We need to find who has hacked into the network.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. I need to talk to Logan and maybe Anne-Jade. She might have a few ideas.” He rested his elbows on his legs and put his forehead into his hands. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

“What?”

“We reclaimed our freedom and we have all this room to spread out and grow. Yet some group is hijacking the net work and blowing holes in our world. Why? Why are they destroying when they could be building levels and using their computer knowledge to help Logan?”

I knelt down, pulled his arms away and met his gaze. “Because of fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of change. Fear of the Committee’s decisions.”

“Fear can be a big motivator.” Riley tucked a loose strand of my hair behind my ear. “Did you think our new life would be like this when we were fighting the Pop Cops?”

“No. I thought we’d be lying on that big green carpet under that huge blue ceiling in Outside relaxing.”

He laughed, but sobered. “We won’t ever see the real Out side. We have to make the most of what we have Inside. We can’t let fear ruin it.”

“You’ve convinced me. Now you only need to convert nineteen thousand others,” I joked.

But he wasn’t amused. “No, Trella. You’re not convinced. If you were, we wouldn’t have half these problems.”

An icy chill zipped through me. “So I’m to blame for half of these new problems?” I kept my voice even despite my desire to scream at him.

“No.” He slid off the chair and knelt in front of me so we were eye to eye. “I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just you gave up too soon.”

“Gave up what?”

“Power. You handed it over to the Committee without thinking about how the Insiders would react.”

“The Committee members are Insiders. And they have more experience.”

“This is all new to
everyone.
”

I balled my hands into fists, tapping them against my thighs. “Yes, but they’re older and more knowledgeable. All I know is the internal structure of Inside. Good for moving around unseen and planting mics, but little else.” My knuckles knocked against my pants’ pockets. The discs inside jingled.

“Planting mics for whom?” Riley asked in concern.

Glad for the change of topic, I told him about Jacy’s request. I pulled a handful from my pocket. “Can you get the frequencies from them? Logan wants us to listen in too.”

“Where are you sticking them?”

I listed the areas Jacy requested. “But I’m not bugging the Control Room or Anne-Jade’s office. And I have extras to plant for us.”

Riley sat back on his heels as if bracing for bad news. “Why?”

Explaining Jacy’s theory of two groups, I speculated that one of the groups had to be connected to the Travas. “The Pop Cops had moles in the lower levels, spying on the scrubs. They could still be loyal. Perhaps by listening in, we can discover who sabotaged the power plant.”

He considered. “I doubt the network hackers worked in the lower levels. With the degree of complexity it needed, I believe there could only be a few suspects with that ability. And the people I’m thinking of are all uppers.”

His obvious sincerity didn’t stop my instant ire over his statement. “Logan broke into the network and reached the highest levels without a port. He’s not an upper so why are you assuming only they could sabotage the files?”

“That’s a valid point. Why are you getting so defensive?”

“I’m…” I had been about to protest, but realized I had overreacted. “It was an automatic gut reaction. The Pop Cops had brainwashed us to believe the uppers were superior in every way.”

“You know that’s not true.”

“Knowing and believing are sometimes hard to combine.”

While Riley discussed the network problems with Logan in the infirmary, I showered then slept. When I woke, Riley had left a wipe board listing the frequencies of all the mics next to Sheepy.

I reported to the air plant at hour seventy to assist with the clean up and repairs. No surprise to see Hank there, barking orders and organizing workers. Pleased to see so many helpers, I waited until he finished instructing a team before claiming his attention.

“You’re in high demand,” I said to him with a smile. “Do you even have time to sleep?”

“Sleep? What’s that? A new type of casserole?”

I would have laughed, but the craters under his eyes proved he and sleep were strangers.

“You have a big crew now. Can’t you take some time off?” I asked.

My comment had the opposite effect. Hank’s mood soured. “Yeah, lots of scrubs being forced to help.”

“What do you mean?”

Hank shook his head in a slow way as if he couldn’t believe I had to ask. “Where have you been, Trella?”

“In the infirmary, growing new skin.”

“Oh. Sorry. I forgot.” He ran a calloused hand over the stubble on his face. Dirt and ash stained his coveralls. “The Committee and ISF have commandeered hydroponics and the kitchen. If the scrubs want to eat, they have to work two hours for each meal.”

I noted Hank’s use of the word commandeered. Even though the Committee was desperate for aid, they had mishandled the situation. In theory Hank should be on their side. He bore all the stress of having to make repairs with a limited crew. They should have asked him how to recruit workers.

“Any work or just repair work?”

“Any. Laundry, recycling, kitchen duty, waste handling… All the jobs that need to be done. Repair work actually counts double—one hour for one meal—because of the critical time-sensitive nature of them.”

“Did they set the same requirements for the uppers?”

“What do you think?”

Damn. “But to be fair, the uppers are still doing their jobs. It’s just—”

“None of the scrubs has a clue what their jobs are. I know, and the scrubs on the Committee understand, but the rest of them believe all the uppers do is sit in front of a monitor and type every so often. No one is taking the time to explain it to the scrubs.” He swept a hand out, indicating the flurry of activity around the air filter bays. “At least there has been one positive thing to all this. I’ve a few uppers who don’t mind getting their hands dirty and they’re putting in long hours right beside the scrubs.”

The situation felt sickly familiar. “Who’s keeping track of a person’s hours?”

“The ISF or as we’d like to call them, the Mop Cops.”

“Do I want to know what that means?”

“Things are a mess right now, and they’re trying to mop it all under the bed and pretend it’s not there.”

Hank had a point, but I didn’t believe the Committee and Anne-Jade had been blind to the mess, just overwhelmed.

I asked for my assignment and Hank sent me to the fore man. He eyed my skin-tight climbing suit and tool belt, handed me a stack of air filters, and listed the air ducts to install them in.

Glad to be productive, I set the filters inside the shafts. The magnets along their edges made the installation easy. The best part, I could plant the mics as I worked. The worst, my new skin protested the activity. And my muscles hadn’t returned to full strength. I lasted four hours, which equaled two meals. I found the ISF officer and made sure to report my time.

Over the next twenty-five hours, I installed filters and mics in four-hour shifts. During the last four hours of the week, I planted one of Logan’s mics near the air vent above Sector D1 where Jacy tended to hold meetings with his people. An unhappy murmur drifted through the shaft over the barracks.

I slid east over the bunk beds in the barracks in Sectors D and E. With the buzz of voices below, I doubted anyone even heard me. As I crossed into Sector F1, snatches of loud conversation reached me.

“…did you see the piles of laundry?”

“…the air still smells bad. It makes me nauseous.”

“…idiots…we need a better Committee.”

“…I saw Meline and Bo behind the dryers. They’re finally together.”

“…still haven’t seen Kadar. I bet they tortured him and fed him to Chomper.”

“…uppers have it sweet. We outnumber them…can bribe a few Mop Cops, get weapons…”

I froze, then backed up to the last vent, listening to the man.

“…I heard that Tech No is out of the picture and the computers are going crazy. Perfect time to attack. We’ll force the uppers to be scrubs and live in their posh apartments. Then feed the Committee to Chomper.”

The man’s voice grew louder and I strained to see who spoke.

“What about that little scrub who started this whole mess?” a woman asked.

“I heard the Committee’s upset with her. Maybe we could…” He lowered his voice.

I pressed my ear to the vent as he mentioned something about recruiting. My tool belt clanged on the metal, but I doubted it was loud enough to be heard amid the general noises below.

Without warning the cover popped free. In the seconds that followed, I caught a brief glimpse of a man then hands grabbed my shoulders and yanked. I fell onto the top bunk a meter below.

It was a soft landing, and I rolled over to my back. The man who had pulled me from the air shaft straddled my hips. He seized my wrists, pinning them to the mattress with his weight. I struggled to no avail—he outweighed me by forty kilograms. Finally, I stopped, but my heart kept up its fast tempo.

“Hello little bug,” he said. His smile seemed more amused than sinister. “Do you know spying on others isn’t playing nice?”

“Get off me.”

“Not until you explain what you were doing up there.”

“I was installing air filters so we can all breathe clean air. Let me go.”

His round face was close to mine. He had light brown eyes with tiny flecks of yellow, a mustache, and short brown hair. Another man’s head and shoulders appeared beside the bunk. He gripped the safety rail, probably standing on the bed below us. “Hey, Sloan, Wera said you wanted—” The scrub noticed me.

“Help me,” I said.

“Uh…what’s going on?” His voice almost squeaked.

“I caught me a blue-eyed bug,” Sloan said. “She
claims
she was installing air filters and is even wearing an air scrub uniform. Can you check the duct for me?”

“Uh…sure.” He climbed up to the vent and poked his head in. “It’s too dark to see.”

I huffed in frustration. “There’s a flashlight in my tool belt.”

Sloan shifted back so his friend could reach it. Now his weight rested on my upper thighs and wrists.

“There’s a filter…don’t know if it’s new or not.” His voice echoed slightly.

“What color is it?” I asked.

“White.”

I met Sloan’s gaze. “It’s new, otherwise it’d be gray.”

“Then why did you stop over my vent when I started talking about bribing the Mop Cops?”

“I had to fix my tool belt, it slipped. You heard it bang.”

He studied me and I kept my innocent expression.

“Hey! Look what I found.” The friend held the microphone I had planted above the vent. Damn! I had hoped he wouldn’t look directly up. He rolled it around his palm. “I think it’s a mic.”

“Care to change your story?” Sloan asked.

“I didn’t plant that. Someone else must have.”

But Sloan didn’t believe me and recognition flashed in his eyes. “You’re
that
scrub. And as I recall, your little group of uppers used those mics to listen to the Pop Cops.”

“So? It’s probably left over from before. Let me go or I’ll scream for help.”

“Go ahead and yell, no one in here will care. Cain, check her belt for more of those devices.”

A cold and clammy fear spread through my muscles as Cain fumbled through my tools. He found the bag with the remaining few mics.

Sloan’s grip tightened as anger shone on his face. “Traitor.” He let go of my left wrist and slapped me across the cheek.

Pain exploded as my head whipped to the side. Tears welled. Sloan shifted off my legs. And before I could react, he shoved me with his feet. I slammed into the rail opposite Cain. With another push from him, I went up and over, falling off the bunk.

The landing knocked the breath from me. I curled into a ball and gasped for air. My shoulder hurt. Sloan’s loud voice carried over the general din, informing everyone in the barracks about me.

No time to recover. Legs surrounded me on both sides and I suffered two hard kicks to my back. When one clipped my head, I feared for my life. I rolled under the bunk. Too narrow to provide any protection, I kept rolling, hoping to outdistance the scrubs chasing me. Bunk, walkway, bunk, walkway, bunk, walkway.

Yells followed me. The floor vibrated with the rush of so many feet. As I drew closer to my goal—the far east wall, I noticed a line of scrubs waiting along that last walkway. Damn. I couldn’t stop and I couldn’t change my trajectory. Or could I?

Taking the biggest risk of my life, I paused under a bunk. The scrubs chasing me climbed over and through the bunk without checking underneath. I knew there would be stragglers, but I couldn’t wait too long. Changing direction, I rolled the opposite way toward the west wall. Yells erupted.

But after I reached an empty walkway, I jumped to my feet and ran toward the south wall. It didn’t take long for them to catch on, but I had a bit of a head start. I poured every bit of energy into my short legs. Feet pounded behind me. I yanked a screwdriver from my belt.

No heating vent was in sight so when I reached the wall, I dove under a bunk and rolled again until I found one. I popped the cover off and scrambled inside. A hand grabbed my ankle, tugging me back. I stabbed the screwdriver into the hand. It released me as its owner swore loudly.